


holding on

by miominmio



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: BAMF Emma, BAMF Killian, Captain Swan - Freeform, Character Study, Dreams, Fear, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hospital, New Character - Freeform, Nightmare, One-Shot, PTSD, Psychological Thriller, Stabbing, Whump, canonical cheese, cs, knife, new storyline, whumped killian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 13:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miominmio/pseuds/miominmio
Summary: A nightmare comes for Emma, and she has to do everything in her power to protect herself and Killian.





	holding on

“So I just press here, love?”

“Killian, you just closed the browser.”

“The browser?”

Emma stifled an exasperated sigh. “Here, let me show you.” She squeezed into the space between the office chair and the desk and perched on Killian’s leg, reopening Chrome on her laptop as she did. 

“Here,” she said, and pointed her sharpie at the screen,” type into this bar what you want to search for and it will show up if you press this key.” 

Killian stared suspiciously at the keyboard in front of him. “It was easier learning to sail as a lad.”

His puzzled expression gave reprieve to Emma’s frustration. “You’re doing really well,” she said softly. 

Killian caught on quickly. Clutching her waist with his hand and his hook, he closed the distance between them. “There’s something that I already know how to do that we could do instead.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow, unable to hide her amusement: “Is that so?”

Killian leaned in further, but before he was able to reach around and kiss Emma, the door to the office flew open and Leroy barged inside, red-faced and clutching his hat in his hands. 

Emma got up so quickly that she banged her knees against the wood of the desk, and Killian pushed against the floor to roll the chair away, but his flight was cut short by the file cabinet behind him.

Emma’s smile was strained with pain as she turned to Leroy: “Hi, Leroy.”

Leroy had obviously had something important to say but he seemed to have forgotten it now as he stood eyeing the two suspiciously. 

“Leroy!” Emma reminded him sharply, her knees still throbbing, very aware that her face was burning red. 

“Right,” Leroy said, but his tone was wary,” something’s happened. An accident. Well, uh, worse than that. A death.”

Emma immediately stood straighter. “What? Whose death?”

“One of the townies. I’m not sure which one of them. The strange thing is - she died of a cardiac arrest.” Before Emma had a chance to cut in, Leroy added: “She was twenty-two. Healthy as can be. Was found by her brother this morning, eyes still open and all, looking like she’d had the fright of her life-“

Leroy was interrupted by a soft voice from the door: “Excuse me?”

A young woman stood on the threshold, long black hair loosely plaited, wearing all-white but for black canvas shoes. She was holding a slightly broken cardboard box in her hands. “Where can I report a crime?”

Emma, who had already been in the process of pulling on her jacket and leaving with Leroy stared at her in confusion. Smoothly, Killian stepped in and spoke to the girl: “I can take care of that for you.” To Emma, he added: “Go, love. I’ll be fine here.”

Emma hesitated, though her hand was already on the door-handle. “Are you sure?”

Killian flashed her his signature self-assured smile, and she knew that he would be fine.

“Petty crime report sheets are in the filing cabinet you crashed in to, serious crime are at the back. See you later.”

And with that she left Killian to deal with the girl while Leroy took her to the girl’s house to see the corpse. As they jogged over the street, she asked the dwarf: “Did the brother not call 911? Why is the body still in the house?”

Leroy shrugged in his usual grouchy manner. “Damn if I know. All I know is that the brother told me that he discovered her body this morning and that it looked like she had been dead a while and that was why he didn’t call emergency services. Then he called Granny with whom he’s friends or something and she called me and I came to you.” 

“I suppose everyone’s still used to how things are run in the Enchanted Forest,” Emma huffed. “I should ask Regina to hold a speech about proper emergency procedures.” 

They had arrived at the house which lay not too far from the diner - nothing in Storybrooke was ever very far. From the outside, the villa looked peaceful enough, partially hidden from view by two large Magnolias. At one of her foster homes, Emma had lived with a Magnolia outside of her window and she had loved to see the shadow of the tree on her bedroom wall at night, her imagination creating both fantastic and terrifying creatures from the shadow.

Her moment of nostalgia instantaneously came to an end when she went inside and saw the body. It lay rigid on the bed, limbs twisted and eyes wide-open, staring up at the ceiling without seeing it. The girl’s mouth was open too, as if she had died in the middle of a scream.

Despite the spring-time weather, Emma's arms were covered with goosebumps. She looked around the room; a standard affair: a bed, a desk, a chair, a wardrobe and some clothes scattered on the floor. There were no prints on the floor, no broken glass, no blood - nothing to indicate that what had happened to the girl had been murder. And yet - Emma glanced at the contorted expression of the girl, the fear so prominent on her face that it was almost tangible - she couldn't shake the feeling that foul play was involved.

As she interviewed the brother in the living room - who, as far as she could tell, was innocent, and had baked gingerbread men with his sister in the Enchanted Forest - the feeling of malaise intensified. According to the brother, the girl had never suffered from any difficulties, whether physical or psychological. She was not overtly friendly, but she had never made any enemies, neither in Storybrooke nor in the Enchanted Forest.

Emma would have to wait a while for an autopsy, but she doubted the girl had been poisoned, or had accidentally ingested something lethal. As she searched the house for clues, something nagged on her mind, something concerning the abject terror on the girl's face, but she could not discern what it was.

On her fourth tour through the rooms, she decided that she had had enough of going in circles, and sat outside on the patio to let the fresh air circulate her thoughts. She ran through the facts in her head as she listened to the leaves of the Magnolia rustle in the wind.

Before her death, the girl had gone to bed - she was wearing pyjamas. But she had not died in her sleep - she had died wide awake, and scared. Emma was reminded of times when she had woken from nightmares, sweat coating her skin, her breath harsh in the night, and images assaulting her mind

_-images of fields of flowers and Killian in her arms and swords glistening with blood-_

She stood so suddenly, her knees creaked in protest. There it was - a nightmare. The girl had had a nightmare. And then she had died. Emma was not sure how the two were connected, and she was not sure how she knew, but she knew, and that was enough. Calling in David to help with the corpse, she immediately headed to the library to talk to Belle. If there was a new fairytale creature - or indeed, person - in town, Belle was most likely to find out what one needed to know about them. 

She found Belle in a gloomy corner of the library sorting old alchemy tomes from modern chemistry textbooks. The librarian looked up as she approached, and smiled with relief, recognising the look of need on Emma's face. "You really are a Saviour. I thought I was about to turn to dust from boredom. Finally a new literary chase to embark on. So, how can I help?”

Belle’s smile faded as Emma relayed to her the details of her suspicions. “Do you know something?” Emma asked, recognising apprehension in Belle’s expression. 

“I do, but-“ Belle hesitated, looking to either side as if she was afraid of being overheard,” I haven’t heard of these type of creatures coming to Storybrooke before.”

“These type of creatures?”

Belle led her into the depths of the library where the dust in the air was so heavy that Emma nearly choked on it. “What I mean,” Belle explained,” is that so far every threat and danger that’s come our way has been benign. In comparison.”

“In comparison to what?” Emma flinched at the sharpness in her voice but she could barely help it, tense as she was with an unexplainable worry. 

“In comparison to the creatures of older folklore. They’re pretty bad - I’ve had a look.” Belle stopped in her tracks and looked at Emma, her forehead creased. “Emma, if one of them is indeed here, they wouldn’t have come from the Enchanted Forest, you know.” 

Emma nodded, but she was too caught up in the matter at hand to consider that, as well. “What can we find out about a creature causing nightmares?"

Belle turned to a shelf and brushed her fingers over the frayed spines of ancient books. “Ah. Here we go. Nordic and Eastern folklore. This is what I was reading a couple of weeks ago.” She leafed through the pages, shaking up a cloud of dust, until she stopped on a page with indiscernible scripture. “Here - mare, mara.” 

Emma had no idea how Belle was able to read the hieroglyphics. “What does it say?”

“It differs from legend to legend. The commonality is that the mare takes the shape of a woman, but can also shape-shift into animals. Some say she rides on a horse. When she comes, she plagues the victim with nightmares, and seems to feed off negative energy and fear” Belle turned the page. “There is a variant called _Kikimora_ , which is pretty much the same as a mara. Again, the descriptions differ. But she enters the room of a victim through the keyhole, sits on their chest and strangles them. Some describe the Kikimora as a beautiful woman with long, dark hair, some as a hideous creature. Some think this is a creature, some an entity-“

Emma felt as though she had been doused with ice-water. “What?”

Belle repeated herself, thinking that Emma had misheard her. “Some think this is a creature, some an entity almost like a ghost.”

“A woman with long, dark hair?” Emma asked, her voice hoarse. She felt her pulse in her throat. 

Belle looked lost. “Yes, some describe her as beautiful woman with long, dark hair.” 

It had been hours. Emma still saw Killian’s smile as she left him with the girl, the one with the long, black hair. A girl she had never before seen in Storybrooke. 

She felt sick. Belle said something but she didn’t hear her over the rush of blood in her ears. Her hand was already reaching for her gun as she left the library and ran toward the sheriff’s office. The mild wind felt like frost on her skin. 

She could be wrong. The girl could just be a girl. But this was Storybrooke and nothing was what it seemed. And Emma had known something was wrong from the moment she had seen the corpse. 

She rushed into the office with her gun raised, safety off. 

It was too late. 

She stared at the empty office chair on which she had sat with Killian in the morning as if she could by mere willpower summon him back. But he was gone. Only his jacket still hung over the back of the chair. 

Her knees wobbled and she sat down on the edge of the desk, her breaths coming in short, sharp pants. Darkness crowded her vision, and she had to put down the gun and brace her hands on her knees to weather the oncoming panic attack. She knew, just like she had known about the baker’s sister having been murdered, that Killian was not the target of the mara. Killian was the bait. But Emma was the intended prey. 

As the worst of the attack lifted, she scoured the office for evidence of the abduction. But just as had been the case with the room, the office showed no signs of a struggle. It even looked like Killian might have just gone out. She was about to leave to call David, Snow and Regina when she noticed something lying on the floor amid some dirt. A card. She retrieved it from the floor, apprehensive. It was a simple card of the business variety, but instead of words there were coordinates scribbled on it. 

Of course. The mara wanted Emma to come to her. 

She brushed some hairs from the card and was about to enter the coordinates into the gps on her phone when she froze. She looked at the floor again. 

It was not covered with dirt.

It was hair. 

Dark hair. 

She looked at the card again. On the back, in smaller letters, it was written: “Come alone.”

Emma had seen her fair share of crime dramas in her lifetime. And the whole ‘come alone, if you get the cops involved we’ll do this, we’ll do that’ was bullshit in terms of real life situations. Besides, she was a cop herself. But now she did not know what to do. She picked strands of Killian’s hair up from the floor, their silky texture reminding her of all the times she had combed his hair with her fingers as they lay in bed. This time she was dealing with a literal nightmare. And the nightmare had Killian. 

She left the suffocating stuffiness of the office to brave the outside. As if responding to her mood, the weather had drastically changed: swathes of sooty clouds drew across the sky. She got into her Beetle, but couldn't start the car. The hand holding the car key was shaking so badly she had to drop it into her lap.  

All that fear. She felt like she had been poisoned. 

The coordinates she entered with trembling fingers into her phone directed her to a spot in the middle of the woods. It would be madness to go out there alone. Yet fear had pushed all reason out of her head. She was scared of doing this on her own. But she was even more scared at the prospect of involving her family.

She went over the speed limit on her way to the woods, trees and houses and people disappearing in a blur outside of the windows. Had it been a busy day, she would have most certainly collided with another vehicle. As it was, she was alone on the road. 

She drove as close to the spot as she could, then parked the car in a wind-swept meadow and followed a weaving trail through the trees. With every step, her heart beat faster, until the rush of blood in her veins was again all that she heard. As a cop, she couldn’t avoid thinking about the possible scenarios awaiting her, but as Emma, she pushed those thoughts firmly out of her head. There were scenarios she did not even allow herself to consider in the slightest. To consider them would be to help realise them. 

The vegetation grew dense around her, a canopy of leaves shutting out the tumultuous sky, then suddenly she entered a patch of sparse forest. 

The sight in front of her made her stop abruptly.

It was Killian that she saw first. He was standing rigidly in front of a pine, his face drained of colour. Emma’s stomach dropped when she saw the noose around his neck, tied to the pine behind him. His hands were tied, too, with what looked like twine. True to Killian’s nature, he had been struggling: she could see the angry red skin on his wrists and neck. As he saw Emma, Killian tugged at the rope, wincing as the fibres dug into his skin. 

Emma started toward him, but she had barely taken a step as another figure appeared in her field of vision. It was the girl with the long, black hair. She had loosened her braid and now her hair flowed freely over her shoulders, reaching down to her knees. 

Fury overcame Emma in a flash, burning the fear from her heart. “Get out my way!” she growled. She raised her hands - this creature would feel the wrath of the Saviour. 

The mara stood calm, looking at her blankly with dark eyes. 

Emma tried to summon her power, but the power would not come. She tried harder still, to no avail. Terror slowly crept back into her heart as the seconds passed, like a spider that had been thrown out but had found a way back in. She stared into the empty gaze of the mara and felt the last of her fury fade.

Killian made a noise - Emma looked at him and saw anguish and anger in his expression. And fear. He pulled anew at the ropes - the chafed skin split and bled. She wanted to shake her head and tell him to stop struggling, that he would only hurt himself that way, but the words died on her dry tongue. She felt the beginnings of paralysis take hold of her. 

The mara took a step toward her, and Emma remembered herself. She raised her gun. 

The mara smiled smugly, but her eyes remained empty. “Do you really think that would work on me?” she said, her voice as high-pitched and soft as it had been earlier that morning. 

Emma fired. The bullet tore a hole through the mara as if the creature was made of smoke. A moment passed, then the hole was filled in again. She had done as much damage as shooting water. 

She kept her gun directed at the mara, even though she knew that it was no good. “What do you want?” she asked, and winced at how small her voice sounded. 

The mara’s voice was like cold water: “To destroy you.” 

“I’m here,” she said, breathless,” I’ll stay. If you let him go.” 

“Emma!” Killian’s protest was filled with all of the pain of a person who had watched a loved one die before. 

“It is him I need to destroy you,” the mara said. She took another step toward Emma, who in her hurry to stumble back lost her grip on her gun. It fell on top of the yellow pine needles coating the forest floor. She did not see the point of picking it up again. 

“I’ll drain the life from his body,” the mara explained, her tone light,” as his body sags, the noose will strangle him. It will take him a while to die.” 

Emma shook her head wordlessly.

“Watch!” the mara hissed. 

Emma watched. 

Killian, who had previously been straining to get to Emma, stumbled back suddenly. His body swayed for a moment, then his knees buckled. The noose around his neck pulled taut. 

“Stop! Please, stop, stop!” Emma pleaded, panicking. She watched the arteries protrude on Killian’s throat as he gasped for air, his feet slipping on the pine needles. “Stop!”

She did not even notice the mara coming to stand by her side. “You will watch him die,” the creature whispered in Emma’s ear.

And Emma-

_-Emma had plunged the sword deep into Killian's chest and it had hurt as much as if she was plunging it into her own. She had felt Killian's laboured breath on her skin growing fainter, his eyes losing focus, even as they clutched at each other as if they could keep themselves alive simply by holding on. It was a terrible thing, Emma had thought, that the reward for opening her heart was to have it broken so brutally. Killian had said something, and she replied, her face wet with tears. She watched him lose awareness, then consciousness. And at some point she could no longer feel his pulse when she cradled his neck-_

" _NO!_ "

Her power came back to her in an instant, and there was more of it than there had ever been before. Emma saw the surprise in the mara's eyes as she straightened her back, anger and adrenaline flooding her system.

"The only one who's going to die here is _you_."

The mara blinked, the surprise replaced by something darker, and 

 

* * *

 

 

Emma found herself sitting up in bed, her pyjamas drenched in sweat and her face sticky with dried tears. She pressed a hand to her heaving chest.

What had just happened?

She could not understand how she had ended up in her bedroom. Morning light streamed in through the windows, and the alarm clock on her nightstand showed that it was seven o' clock.

The left side of the bed was empty, but there was an indenture in the mattress left by Killian. Emma ran her hand over the spot. It was still warm.

In the bathroom, she washed herself with cold water. Her heart did not quite want to slow down, as if she was still stuck in that terrible scene with Killian and the mara.

Had it all been just a nightmare? Emma had never had such vivid, realistic dreams before. Even those of hers that had felt real had not felt as real as the one she had just had. She couldn't make sense of it. At the same time she was relieved. If it had been a nightmare, then Killian was fine and there was no new, villainous creature in Storybrooke. 

She looked at herself in the mirror. There were dark smudges under her eyes, but she looked fine besides.

It had been just a dream.

Just a nightmare.

 

* * *

 

 

The mara was angry. 

It was a feeling she hadn't felt in years, used to efficiency and success as she was. A century-long winning streak, interrupted by this, this... who did Emma Swan think that she was?

Emma's soul was what had drawn her to Storybrooke in the first place. In this world, the mara had never seen a soul so bright. Like a beacon it had beckoned her, and the mara had come, slipping through the keyhole of Emma’s bedroom, and put her icy fingers over Emma’s forehead. There was so much of Emma to be exploited, so much joy to turn into fear. 

She had so meticulously woven a nightmare for Emma, tailored terror to her, and in the beginning, it had worked. The mara had soaked up the waves of unease rolling off the sleeping human, and revelled in her anguish. Like with most of her nightmares, she had lulled Emma into a false sense of security and hope. She had even let her find out a bit more about what type of creature that she was just to squeeze some more distress out of her. But then Emma had done what no one had managed to before her: she had gained the upper hand. And the mara had had to interrupt the nightmare lest she was destroyed. Such was the risk of her trade: were she to lose control of her self-made nightmares, she could be trapped within them. 

In this instance, she had pulled herself back just in time, but she had lost enough power that it could not be viewed as an insignificant loss. She had to get it back: and an ordinary nightmare would not suffice for Emma.

She looked down at the prone body at her feet. Killian Jones. The mara was used to subtleties and hallucinations, but she had to admit that violence had its advantages as she looked at his soft, malleable skin.

She had already had a dig around the pirate's head. There were few things that she could have done to cause him pain that he had not already done to himself. The mara preferred the happy; there was more work to be done. And so, she had left him alone. Mostly.

In order to take Killian, she had had to materialise fully. The form she took on in the hallucinations of her victims was that of a young woman, which often disquieted people more than should she have showed herself as a frightening man. But if she were to appear outside of a human's mind, she more resembled an older woman, still with dark hair and dark eyes. This human form was more capable of manhandling and combat. That this also left her more vulnerable to destruction she left unsaid. But though she had not managed to destroy Emma as she had planned, she had planted a seed of worry in her head, and hopefully that seed would be enough to keep Emma at bay. Not to mention the fact that she had Killian.

The pirate would shortly wake to find himself in the abandoned sanatorium, frightened and dishevelled. Humans were so terribly fragile, she mused - and their breakable heads protected even more breakable minds. 

Emma would soon learn that there was still so much to come.

 

* * *

 

 

David and Snow were making eggs as Emma came downstairs. "Is Killian here?" was the first thing that she asked.

Snow grimaced. "Good morning to you too," she quipped," and no, he isn't."

"Have you seen him?"

David looked up from the carrots that he was chopping. "Are you OK, Emma?"

"We haven't seen Killian since last night," Snow said, scooping fried eggs onto a plate," maybe he's on the Roger."

"Maybe." Emma perched on a stool, trying to stifle the sick feeling resurfacing in her stomach. She pushed away the plate that she was offered. "Sorry," she muttered," not hungry." As her parents frowned with concern at her, she added: "Bad dream."

Snow looked like she knew that there was more to it than that, but she kept silent.

Emma was sick at being sick: she knew that it would help to confide in Snow and David. But first she had to find Killian.

She met Henry at Granny's and ordered herself strong, black coffee and a hot chocolate, for good measure.

Henry could see that something was wrong, as well, and it was harder to hide the truth from the kid than it was from Snow. She promised to tell him everything, and asked for his help to find Killian. 

"Operation Black Pearl?" Henry suggested, and Emma couldn't help but smile.

They visited the Roger first, but there was no sign of Killian on or close to it. Regina told them that she hadn't seen him either when they passed by her office.

On their way back through town, Emma's attention was caught by the house half-hidden by Magnolias. She was knocking on the door before she knew what she was doing.

The door opened. The face of a young woman appeared, a smear of flour on her cheek. "Yeah?"

Emma had seen her dead. At the very least, she had dreamed of her death. It was a mild shock to see the baker's sister alive and well, no sign of fear on her face.

"Sorry, wrong door," she mumbled, aware that she was staring.

The woman shook her head and closed the door.

Emma tried to feel relief; after all, if the baker's sister was alive, then all else that had happened in her dream had not happened in real life either. But Killian was gone. And something was not quite right.

She decided to pay Belle a visit, but first she sent Henry off with an excuse that she needed him to get her her laptop from the sherriff’s office. The kid looked disappointed but made haste to retrieve her computer.

Emma entered the library. She was struck by deja vu as she found Belle in a dusty, poorly illuminated corner sorting alchemy books from chemistry textbooks.

Belle's face lit up as she saw her approach. "Emma! You really are-"

"Sorry, Belle, I urgently need your help, no time for chit-chat," Emma interrupted her. She felt guilty for shutting Belle down so promptly, but the truth was that she did not want Belle to repeat the words from her nightmare. "Where are the books on Nordic and Eastern folklore?"

"Uh, I'll show you," Belle said, and got up, dusting her knees off as she did. "Can I ask why you're interested? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

"Something that came to me in a dream." Emma said. She was beginning to tire of the vague allusions that she was making, but she wasn't ready to tell anyone the truth. She was afraid that it would give her fear solidity. 

Belle took her to the appropriate shelves just as she had done in Emma's nightmare. 

"There we go." Belle dropped the heavy tome into Emma's hands. "The best compendium we have in stock."

Emma leafed through the pages until she found the chapter on marqs. She read through the information, and was only mildly surprised that little of it resounded with the information she had learned in her dream. " _Maras are essentially shape-shifters," she read aloud," which explains why no one can agree upon in what form they manifest in nightmares. They weave nightmares for their victims, and feed off the resulting negative energy. More often than not, this is not enough to kill the victims, who are left in a state of chronic terror and/or paralysis. Maras live for millennia if they are not rid of - so far, no one in documented history has been able to destroy them. There are very few of them, and they have no ability to procreate, which is why they fight for their continued existence with tooth and nail. Charms are said to ward off maras, but little is known as to how to kill them for good._ ”

Emma read the rest of the text, but there was nothing more useful to be learned. She slammed the book shut. “Great. It’s always what I need to know that I can never find.”

Belle had crossed her arms and was looking at Emma sternly. “You should probably tell me what you’re up to.” 

Emma hesitated. It felt wrong to confide in Belle, and not in her family. But she had already more or less revealed herself to Belle by reading the passage out loud.

She rubbed her eyes: she needed a lot more coffee, and some food. 

“Granny’s?” Belle suggested without Emma having to have said anything. 

Emma nodded in relief. 

She shared the details of her nightmare over some soup and sandwiches. Even as she spoke, Emma couldn't rid herself of the feeling that she was wasting time: she had to get out there, find Killian. Make sure that he was alright. On their way to the diner, Emma had already tried Killian's phone thrice. She told herself his radio silence didn't necessarily mean that anything had happened: Killian was as inept with technology as ever. But she had silently wished that he would, for once, pick up, so that she could put to sleep the gnawing anxiety in her gut.

"I could ask Rumple to help," Belle suggested gently, spooning sugar into her coffee.

Emma shook her head. "I haven't even told my family about it. Or Regina. I know that's bad, but-" she grimaced. "I don't know, it feels too personal. What if I'm just being paranoid?"

"But Killian's missing."

Emma's throat closed up. "Yeah, he's missing."

They sat silently for a while, and watched Granny wipe the counters clean. They had arrived past the midday rush and were the only guests in the cafe. 

"If it comes to it," Emma finally spoke reluctantly," I'll ask Regina to do some kind of locator spell. But first I want to find out what's going on by myself."

"Just don't put yourself in danger," Belle asked of her. "You don't have to do this on your own."

"I know," Emma replied, but she asked herself whether she had actually accepted the fact that she now had people in her life on whom she could rely. Thinking of her family made her think of Killian, and her heart hurt as she thought that he, too, had struggled to be accepted by the people in Emma's life. Both of their suspicious natures were borne out of negative experiences, and that was something that Emma shared with only Killian. She couldn't image a life without him, not now, not ever.

She stood suddenly. "I need to go," she said to Belle, and left before the librarian could stop her. Though she was still afraid for Killian's sake, she was filled with determination to find him. And she would be the first person in "documented history" to have vanquished the mara, she decided.

She got into her Beetle parked down the curb, intent on going to her office. Before she was able to start the ignition, though, a hand was clamped over her mouth from behind and a dagger pressed over her throat.

"Hello Emma," a voice whispered in her ear.

Like cold water.

All determination left Emma in an instant. The voice paralysed her with fear. She stared emptily ahead, feeling her pulse race beneath the edge of steel.

“Don’t worry, I’m only taking you to your pirate,” the voice continued, as smooth and as cold as black ice,” it is him who you want to see, after all.”

_You have control_ , Emma tried to tell herself, _do something, use your powers, destroy her_. But her hands were stuck to the steering wheel. 

“Drive,” commanded the mara, and Emma drove. She felt cold fingers on the back of her neck and saw the path the mara intended for her in her mind. The drive was agonisingly slow, and the mara didn’t lift her dagger from Emma’s throat though it made for some awkward driving. She felt blood mixed with sweat trickle over her chest. 

The drive took them to a wooded area not too far from the town centre. It was an area Emma didn’t know too well, which didn’t bode well for her chances to be rescued from here if matters went awry. She glimpsed a villa amid the trees, dilapidated and overgrown with ivy, and remembered that Belle had told her that it had used to be a sanatorium for the rich and exhausted, pre- Storybrooke days. 

The mara ordered her to get out of the car, and Emma obeyed with utmost reluctance. She was relieved to have the dagger removed from her throat, even though she thought she could still feel its bite on her skin. 

She looked to the house. The wind carried the sound of rustling leaves, and the crunch on gravel of the mara's steps as she walked toward the door. “Follow me. He’s inside.” 

It was most certainly a trap. And yet, Emma followed. 

The inside of the house was even worse than the outside: the dust hovering in the air so thick that Emma felt it line her lungs. There was black mould growing in corners, and cobwebs spanning entire door-frames. The mara went straight for the basement stairs. 

With each step of her descent, Emma’s fear intensified. She had never been claustrophobic before, but now she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Her worst fear was realised when the mara shut the basement door firmly behind her, and turned on the lights. 

The basement was no ordinary basement in the sense that it was not and had never been used to store old items or produce. The walls and floors were tiled and there were square depressions in the ground which had been used as thermal pools. Now, the pools were empty, rust covering the drains and ledges, and in one of them Emma spotted Killian. He was propped up against the wall of the pool, his skin tinged an alarming shade of green. Without hesitation, she ran toward him, jumping down into the pool of which the wall only reached to her waist.

He looked up as she came. She was so relieved that he was alive that she almost kissed him then and there, with no regard to the mara's presence. 

“Emma,” he said, and as she held his head in her hands, she saw that his pupils were dilated. “You’re here.” He was slurring slightly, and he frowned as if he couldn’t quite figure something out. 

Emma had grown weary of all the times she had felt her heart miss a beat. She looked over her shoulder at the mara. “You’ve drugged him.”

The mara stood silently at the edge of the pool. She was still holding the dagger in her hand. “I needed him more pliant.”   
Emma held Killian as if she was never going to let go of him. “Why?” she asked, despairing,” why are you doing this? Why me?” 

In the cold, fluorescent light, the mara's eyes gleamed like shards of obsidian. “You have so much potential.”

Killian’s head fell forward onto Emma’s chest. He was trying to hold her, as well, but his grip was constantly slipping. 

“Potential? What are you talking about?”

Emma needed Killian out of here. She needed to get him to safety, to get him medical attention. But the fear instilled by the mare still very much had her heart in an iron grip. The nightmare had done damage enough. 

“Your powers. Your strength.” Something like reverence resounded through the voice of the mara: “Even if you weren’t superhuman, Emma Swan, I think that I would still be enticed by your soul. Such a bright light. It’s begging to be snuffed.” The mara took a deep breath, and Emma felt a shudder run down her spine. “Your fear gives me life. Each time that you despair, my powers grow. You will be my crowning victory.” The creature smiled. “With most humans it is enough to give them nightmares. But you broke free of mine. So your nightmare has to be your reality.”

Emma stood, placing herself in front of Killian, who slumped against the wall. “You’re not going to touch him. I’ll die before that happens.”

“It will happen.” The mara took a step forward. “And you won’t die just yet.”

She raised her free hand, and Emma braced herself, but it was not she who was the target. Behind her, Killian dropped completely to the floor, and started writhing.

“What are you doing?” Emma shouted. “Stop - stop it!”

She knelt before Killian’s spasming body and tried to grasp his clenched hand, but he jerked away from her so violently that it gave her a start. “Get away from me!” 

“It’s alright, Killian, it’s me, it’s Emma,” Emma tried to reassure him, her voice unusually high-pitched,” it’s just me. I’m sorry if I scared you, Killian, it’s just me-“

“I’m going to kill you one day, crocodile-“ Killian growled through gritted teeth, and Emma knew then that he was hallucinating. 

She turned to the mara. “Stop it! You’ve made your point - stop it!”

The mara lowered her hand and Killian’s body went slack. His eyes were slits of pain when Emma cradled his head. “Emma?” he asked, and her face crumpled at how small his voice sounded. 

“I’m here,” she said, because it was the only thing of comfort that she could say. 

The mara stood over them, watching them unwaveringly like a bird of prey. She looked more solid than she had appeared in Emma's nightmare - Emma brushed her hand over her gun. Maybe it would work this time.

The mara followed every of Emma's movements closely. Her lips curled. "Bullets won't do for me. I thought you had learned your lesson?"

Amid all the panic, a flare of anger licked at Emma's heart. "I guess I'm too stubborn for lessons."

The mara's face shuttered closed for a moment. Emma held on to the anger - it seemed to dampen the mare's enthusiasm, and she had to do anything to delay the inevitable and give her family enough time to come. Belle would raise an alarm, but only if enough time passed. It was a dangerous game, but Emma had to keep the mara occupied long enough to keep Killian safe. The only thing she had to offer though was herself. She knew that she would have to give in to her fear, little by little, or the mara would force it out of her by hurting Killian.

She drew a deep breath, and released the hold she had kept over her heart to keep the terror at bay ever so slightly.

It worked - Emma saw the mara's eyes widen. Her heart was beating almost painfully against her chest, but the mara was focusing on Emma now, and it was all that mattered.

She flinched as the mara jumped into the pool with feline grace, her movements deliberate and languid. "You know," said the mara, and her voice was almost a purr," I know more about you than probably anyone else knows. Even he" she pointed at Killian," doesn't know you as well as I do. And all I had to do was to let you dream. Do you know how I give people nightmares?"

The surface of Emma's tongue was like sandpaper. So many pools, she thought, but no water. "You tell me," she managed to rasp. Her eyes jumped to the steel of the mare's dagger.

"I plant myself in their dreams - a little seed of fear, and doubt, and pain. Sometimes I nudge them in the right direction, but most of the times they make their own nightmares. They spill their deepest, darkest secrets to me with the slightest of my interventions."

She took another step toward Emma and Killian. "And you. What is there of negative emotions that you haven't experienced? Abandonment. Betrayal. Mourning. Hatred. Envy-"

"That's enough," Emma interjected, but her voice wasn't strong enough to carry.

"You think that I brought the fear to you, but the thing is that you are always afraid. And most of all, you're afraid of yourself-"

"I do believe the lady said enough," a halting voice spoke behind Emma. She turned around to see that Killian had risen on unsteady feet. Before she could stop him - and she would come to regret that she didn't - he brushed past her and launched himself at the mara. The unexpected tackle toppled both of them over.

Killian tried to get up as quickly as possible, but the mara was quicker: Emma saw only a flash of the dagger and then it was buried to the hilt in Killian's stomach.

She opened her mouth to scream, to say something, but the sight had sucked all noise out of her. 

The mara straightened, and pulled the dagger out of Killian. Blood spilled on to the tiles, red on white. "There we go. I can feel that now, Emma. You're close now."

But Emma wasn't listening to her anymore. She rushed to Killian's side. His already pale face had become a few shades paler. He clutched his stomach with hands covered in his own blood. Emma pressed down her own over the wound, but blood was still leaking out on the sides, and there was so much of it that she felt as if there was no hope of ever stopping it. Killian was unresponsive to her questions and her coaxing - the pain from the injury in combination with the drug-induced delirium had put him in quite a dangerous state. She pulled her phone out, her blood-slick fingers slipping on the screen, and dialled emergency services. The mara watched but did not intervene. As Emma blurted out the description of the run-down sanatorium to the operator, she looked at the mara over her shoulder: her pupils were blown and her skin covered in a sheen of sweat. She was getting a high off of Emma's fear.

Emma peeled off her jacket and her sweater until she was wearing only her tank-top. She bunched the sweater up in a ball and pressed it against Killian's stomach, forcing a low moan out of Killian. She fastened the sweater with her belt to Killian's waist even as she continued to chat with the operator. Her heart was beating a million beats a minute, and she knew that the mara was soaking it all up, growing stronger by the second. But secretly, Emma harboured the slightest bit of hope. She knew what to do now.

Despite the operator's directions, she finished the call. In the ensuing silence all she heard was Killian's laboured breathing and the rush of blood in her veins.

The mara's chest was heaving as much as Killian's, but this was not accompanied by any sound of breathing. 

Emma rose to her feet. Her jeans, tank-top and hands were coloured crimson. She curled her hands into fists.

The mara only realised what was happening in the very last moment as Emma splayed a hand over her chest. The light emanating from between her fingers was enough to dim the glow of the fluorescent lamps.

Their surroundings disappeared momentarily: the pools, the dying Killian, the entire sanatorium. There was only Emma, the mara and complete darkness.

"You're right about all of those things you said about me," said Emma. The mara tried to move away, to repel Emma, but Emma was holding her in place with her magic," I am afraid. I am afraid of abandonment. And pain. I am afraid of myself, too." She leaned in closer, and the intensity of the light increased. "But you know what? Fear is not always bad. Yes, it's toxic and it feels like shit, and often it's excessive. But we all need fear sometimes. To remind us that we're human. That we care for someone. That we're concerned. Someone like you would never understand that because you're not human. So you think that fear is a weapon." The hand that Emma was holding to the mara's chest was burning a hole through the creature's flesh. "Yeah, fear is a weapon. But it's a double-edged sword, bitch, and here's all of the fear that I've gathered over the years. I guess you never learned _your_ lesson either."

The mara's eyes widened- and that was it. She returned to her true form - a wisp of black smoke, and then disintegrated. 

Emma dropped her hand to her side. She was back in the sanatorium basement, and watched the particles of the mara disappear through the air vents in the ceiling. 

Killian was calling her name. He was shaking as she dropped down by his side again, his eyes squeezed shut. She smoothed down his hair and repeated his name the entire time until the paramedics arrived.

She sat with him in the ambulance, and held his hand in the hospital until he was taken away for surgery. Her family met her in the waiting room. They didn't say anything, just embraced her. She rested her head on Snow's shoulder and let Snow's coat soak up her tears. David's arm was wound over her shoulders and Henry had his head leaned on her back. It was a long time before they parted.

It was night-time when Dr. Whale came with news: "He's going to pull through. He is a pirate, after all. Although he might have some complications with eating for a while - the knife ruptured part of his stomach."

"Can I see him?" Emma immediately asked.

"He's sleeping now, but I don't see why you can't sit by him."

Emma did not wait for further encouragement. She bode a hasty farewell to her family, and entered the room in which they had put Killian.

Seeing him in a hospital bed, in a hospital gown with all sorts of intravenous tubes snaking across his body made her insides twist. But the heart rate monitor was beeping steadily, and his expression was peaceful in his sleep. She moved a chair from the back of the room to sit closer to him, and held his hand. His skin was cold to the touch, but the callouses of his fingertips were familiar and comforting. Every now and then, Killian would frown and moan, or mutter something, but mostly he slept soundly.

Emma, though she had not had a proper sleep - that is a sleep without nightmares - in a while, couldn't fall asleep herself. There was still adrenaline running through her system - she could have fought the mara a second time over. She wanted to stand guard over Killian and protect him from any more threats coming their way.

It was a painful fact that they had had way too many close calls in the history of their relationship, and indeed their lives. But this latest confrontation with the mara had made her realise that it was part of their lives. The fear would never really go away, but she could live with that, too. 

It was a dangerous life. It was a beautiful, and an unpredictable life. And Emma would not have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's a rushed ending, and this story is riddled with logical inconsistencies but I wanted to get it out before I changed my mind. I hope you guys like it <3
> 
> oh yeah and the second chapter is just a bonus chapter with Killian's nightmare, that is if you want it


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